


It's All Fun and Games (until someone steps in a bear trap)

by Aylwyyn228



Series: Golden Era Walking Dead [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: BAMF Daryl Dixon, BAMF Rick Grimes, Bear traps are never fun, Canon-Typical Violence, Crazy Rick Grimes, Daryl Dixon Whump, Gen, Light Angst, Mild Peril, Rick and Daryl being bros, Season/Series 06, Terrible Jokes, Walkers (Walking Dead), toes the line between drama and laughs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 21:17:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20699990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aylwyyn228/pseuds/Aylwyyn228
Summary: Rick and Daryl are on a run when Daryl puts his foot in it... literally. Rick's got the crazy in his eyes and walkers are closing in. He copes with the stress by telling some truly godawful jokes.





	It's All Fun and Games (until someone steps in a bear trap)

**Author's Note:**

> I found a folder of Walking Dead fics I wrote yonks ago on an old computer, so I thought I might as well post a couple of the least awful ones, see if someone gets a kick out of them. 
> 
> So if you're following on me for Stucky, feel free to ignore this entire series xxx
> 
> But if you want some nostalgic TWD from the golden years, read on!
> 
> This one's set towards the end of series 6, I believe.

His first thought was that he had to get Rick to stop. 

Well, that was probably a lie. His first thought was ‘shit’, closely followed by ‘fuck’. But after that his first thought was to get Rick to stop. 

Rick had been on edge for weeks, all that barely contained fury welling up in him, fit to burst. Stomping round town, scaring the shit outta people. Daryl’d seen this set about him before and he didn’t envy anyone caught in the Sanctuary when Rick finally got there. 

Rick was gonna rain hellfire down on all of them and he sure as shit weren’t gonna stop him. 

Still, it weren’t too good for making alliances, claiming allegiances. When Rick had that look about him like he was after blood and weren’t too particular about whose. Tended to put people off.

It was partially why Daryl’d suggested the trip today, burn off some of that energy. Get Rick back thinking clear.

He’d probably fucked that up.

He whistled automatically, the same whistle he used when he’d spotted something and was lining up a shot. It seemed the safest bet, he didn’t want anything that’d freak Rick out, that’d do no good. There could be more of them around.

Sure enough, Rick halted instantly about ten feet in front of him.

Good. That was good. They had time now.

He was lucky he’d heard it, amongst the rustling of the leaves on the forest floor. The click of the mechanism.

He hadn’t been paying attention. Too busy looking upwards, looking out for squirrels, thinking on shit that weren’t his to think on. Should have been looking at where he was stepping. 

Still, could’ve been about a thousand times worse… Well, maybe a couple of dozen times worse… Worse, anyway.

He studied Rick’s back as he stood stiffly, waiting for the thwack of a bolt or whatever order was coming his way. 

He had to plan this properly.

He licked his lips. “Rick,” he started softly, “need you to stay calm here.”

“Wha-?”

“Don’t!” He saw Rick start to turn, and was hissing out before he even thought about it. “Don’t move.”

They’d be really fucked then. 

He could see the tension in Rick, practically pouring off him. 

“Need you to check around your feet, ok? There anything under the leaves around you?”

He watched as Rick peered at the ground, glancing around him. 

“Daryl?” He spoke as though he really didn’t want the answer. “What am I looking for?”

He bit his lip, trying to judge how best to do this. He needed Rick calm, and Rick had a track record of abandoning calm pretty damn quick. 

“Just anything out of the ordinary.”

He watched Rick scanning round himself, focussing real hard on keeping his breathing steady. 

“No, nothing.”

He let out a sigh. “Good, that’s good. You gottta move real slow when you move, check where you’re steppin.”

“Daryl, what’s goin on?”

“Need you to keep a level head on this one.”

“Daryl.” There was a warning in that, low and threatening.

He sucked in a breath. “Come over here.”

Rick did, following his warnings about cautious steps, stopping all of a sudden as he realised what was going on. 

“Fuck.” 

He couldn’t agree more.

Rick took another couple of steps forward, staring at the thick metal as if it were a snake. “Is that…?”

“’S alrigh’.” He cut him off. “’S old. Mechanism’s shot, must be. Would’ve sprung otherwise. Don’t trust it, is all.”

He didn’t mention that he knew it was still engaged, could feel the tension in the spring. 

He waited until Rick met his eyes. He recognised the look, it didn’t happen often, not to him anyway, usually only out in the woods, in his space. Rick was ceding responsibility over to him, waiting for him to tell him what to do. 

If only he fucking knew.

He thought about just chancing it, jerking his foot away. He would do it, odds were probably as good as anything else, if it weren’t for how fucked the mechanism was. He wasn’t convinced the release would still work. And that led to a whole series of scenarios he wasn’t keen on contemplating.

He forced himself to look more confident than he felt. “Wanna try and jam it open with something.”

Rick frowned. “That work?”

How would he fucking know? 

If it was him and Merle they’d have just disconnected the mechanism, but if it was rusted through 

that might spring it anyway. In any case, it wasn’t Merle, it was Rick and he didn’t want to have to talk Rick through it.

“It’ll work. Done it before.” If his Ma was right and there was a circle of Hell dedicated for liars, they oughta be building him his own condo after that one. “See if you can find a rock or somethin.”

Rick nodded once and disappeared off. 

He was left alone, listening to Rick shuffling through the leaves over to his left, squirrels chattering above him and his own deliberately steady breathing.

He made himself look down, study the trap. It was heavy, but not the biggest he’d seen. Straight edged so that was something.

Fucking idiot. Spent too long inside Alexandria, getting complacent, thinking on wars and revenge and shit. Merle’d be pissing himself laughing if he could see him now.

He was saved from that train of thought by Rick’s return, carrying an armful of stones.

“These any good?”

He guessed they’d find out. 

He held his hand out for one of them. 

“I’ll do it.”

He looked down at Rick, earnestly clutching at one of the rocks. That was probably a better idea, he’d struggle to keep his weight balanced if he tried to crouch.

He nodded, let Rick lean over, surveying the task ahead.

“Rick,” he tried to keep his tone light, “try and keep your hand out of it.”

He’d pitched it wrong. Rick sat back on his heels, staring up at him, expression calling bullshit on him. “Be honest with me here, how bad could this get?”

The stiffness in Rick’s posture told him how close he was to snapping.

“Be alrigh’. ‘S old. More worried about getting stuck in it when we got company.” He should get an Oscar for this. 

Rick nodded, leaning back over the trap, gingerly pushing one of the rocks into it. Daryl could see the slick of sweat down the back of his shirt, the way his hands shook ever so slightly as he got close to the spring.

“Hey, so there’s this ranger in Georgia and he comes across this coyote in a trap. So he goes back to his office and he rings up a ranger in Alabama. He says ‘I think we’ve trapped one o y’all’s coyotes’. ‘Bamer says ‘what makes you think it’s one o’ ours?’ and he says ‘well, its chewed three o’ its feet off and it’s still stuck.’”

Rick snorted. “That’s godawful.”

“Keep working, hoss, I got dozens.”

“I know. I been in the truck with you enough.”

“Anything to drown out your damn singin.”

Rick was onto his third rock. “I’ll have you know, Lori loved my singin. It got her to marry me.”

“Ya sure she wasn’t tryin to shut ya up?”

“You hear that?”

He didn’t know whether Rick nudged something as he was distracted, or whether he shifted his own weight as he turned to look. What he did know is that he heard the snap before he felt it. 

And then he felt it.

Holy fucking shit.

He didn’t know how he ended up flat on his back. Didn’t much care as sparks of agony started shooting up his calf. 

“Fuck! I’m sorry. You alright?”

He’d been a hell of a lot better. 

“I’m good.” He gasped it out, forcing himself to sit up, to huff out a laugh, even as he thought he was gonna black out. “Shit me up, is all.”

“You sure?”

Even he didn’t know how he managed to keep up the charade as Rick dropped a hand to rest against his ankle, and it fucking burned. 

What he did know, was that this was turning into a shitstorm and three days ago Rick had embedded a machete in the kitchen wall when Rosita told him she’d found, and then lost, three boxes of ammunition on a run that went south.

They both had a lot better chance of getting out of this if Rick managed to keep the crazy out of his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m good. Was built for something a lot smaller’n me. You know how the release works?”

Rick shook his head.

“Need you to stand on these plates.”

Rick did as he was told. 

Nada. 

He fucking knew it. Just his luck.

He shifted, trying to force it apart with his hands, hoping it’d just got stiff. But no. Fuck all. 

Shit. 

Rick bent down, adding his own strength to it. But that was never gonna work, there was a hell of a lot of weight on that spring. More’n the two of them could hope to shift. 

Rick was losing patience, yanking at it, which felt about the same as if he’d decided to stomp his ankle from a ten foot drop.

“Stop! Stop. Ain’t gonna work.”

“Then what?” Rick near on growled that out.

He paused, thinking, breathing deep, and surreptitiously digging his nails into his palm to stop him thinking on how his ankle was sending fire up his leg.

“See if I can slip it.” 

Even he didn’t think that one was gonna work, worth a shot though. Rick didn’t need telling twice, moving to start unlacing his shoe.

“Hey,” he didn’t know any more whether he was trying to calm Rick or himself, “so two guys are out hunting-“

“Squirrel or possum?”

“Big ass buck, smartass. You wanna hear this or not? So these two guys are out and one of em just keels over and he ain’t breathing or shit. So his friend calls 911, freaking out and shit, you know, ‘Help! My friend’s dead! What should I do?’. Operator comes on, says ‘Calm down, first of all, let’s make sure he is dead.’ There’s nothing for a second, then a gunshot. Guy gets back on the phone ‘Ok, now what?’”

Rick huffed as he slid his shoe off.

“Where’d you even get all these from?” He answered his own question the same time Daryl did. “Merle.”

Rick looked expectantly at him. “Come on then.”

This weren’t feeling like such a good idea from this position. But this weren’t no time to be a pussy. 

Christ. Even trying to twist his ankle round made his vision flash white.

“Can’t,” he gasped out, trying really fucking hard to not just pass out.

“Well, you gotta.”

Daryl saw exactly what Rick was gonna do the split second before he moved.

“No, wai-“

He stopped being able to make coherent sounds the moment Rick clasped the metal and wrenched it towards himself. And in all fairness, he was pretty sure that when his fist thudded into Rick’s mouth it was entirely reflex action.

He ended up flat on his back again, trying to breathe back the nausea rolling about in his stomach. “The fuck, man? You trying to take ma foot off with it?”

By the time he’d collected himself enough to sit back up, Rick had a hand clasped against his bleeding lip, watching him with narrow, concerned eyes. 

“You’re fine, huh?”

“I’m fucking peachy, man.” He took the opportunity to check his foot was still pointed in roughly the right direction. “Just don’t… don’t do that again.”

Rick glared at him, then stood suddenly, spitting a mouthful of blood out into the leaves. “What are we gonna do then?” 

Daryl knew in a second he’d lost, Rick was pacing tight circles, hand opening and closing around his Colt convulsively. He suddenly turned to him. “Why couldn’t you just look where you were fucking going?”

He wasn’t even gonna answer that one. Weren’t as if he didn’t feel dumb enough. Shit just happened sometimes.

Rick lost interest anyway, going back to pacing, all wound up energy.

Daryl kept him in his peripheral vision as he pulled out his hunting knife and the last of his cigarettes. He lit it and took a long drag, before taking the knife and trying to pry at the spring. If it was as rusted as he thought it was, he should be able to take it apart. He was willing to blunt the knife in the attempt at least.

“You gonna smoke now?”

“There a better time for it?”

Rick mumbled something into the trees that Daryl couldn’t catch, but he didn’t give a shit anyway, weren’t worth trying to reason when Rick was like this. Least he weren’t shouting at thin air yet. Or beating the shit outta some passer-by… Or him.

He managed to force the tip of the knife into the mechanism, chipping off orange rust flakes as he went, jiggling it about. It’d surely give. 

He caught a tense shudder run over Rick’s body outta the corner of his eye, whistled a question, but Rick didn’t respond, didn’t even look round. He just raised a hand behind him to shush him. 

Then he dropped into a crouch, dragging the hatchet outta his belt in one fluid movement.

Rick glanced over his shoulder, eyes flicking down to Daryl’s foot, still very much shackled to the forest floor. 

“We got company.”

***

Fuck.

He waited, absolutely still, not wanting to give them away with the scrape of the knife, as Rick crept back over to him. 

“How many?” He kept his voice low, but from the look on Rick’s face it weren’t gonna do much good.

“Too many.”

Rick snatched the knife outta his hand jammed it into the metal. 

He could hear them now. They were shuffling purposely. Far, far too many. And wasn’t it just their luck, hit the edge of a herd. 

They began to come into sight over the rise. Most were heading past them, but it only took a couple to get a bit too close and all the rest’d follow them, like fucking sheep. 

Even as he thought that, he caught the swivel of pale eyes towards them. He patted the ground behind him, hand closing on the crossbow. He brought it round and lined up the shot. 

She dropped noiselessly.

“Rick,” he hissed, “they ain't gonna go past.”

Rick didn’t answer, intent on the trap. 

Didn’t matter anyway, it was too late, they both felt the switch in the atmosphere, as the herd smelt them or heard them or whatever the fuck they did.

Some started to turn round, five or six at first, but they’d draw more with them.

“Rick.” 

Daryl grabbed at his arm, but Rick just shrugged him off.

Over a dozen had noticed them now, and the closest were about fifteen feet away.

“Rick!” He wrenched Rick’s hand back, forcing him to glance behind him. When he met his eyes again, Rick had that damn look on his face again. “You gotta go.”

Rick’s eyes clouded over. He snatched his hand back. 

Daryl could see that the leaders of the group shambling over had almost reached them. He shoved Rick backwards. “You fucking deaf? Go!”

Rick just looked back at him for a second, face set, then he stood, hatchet grasped loosely in his hand. 

He span, slamming the hatchet into the face of the leader of the walkers. 

“Shit.”

Rick just strode off down the hill, absolutely calm, like he was Butch Cassidy or something.

Fuck. Fuck.

He scrabbled for the knife where Rick had discarded it in the leaves, then followed the chain to where it disappeared into the soil. He started hacking at it with the knife, digging away, trying to find the plate. 

He chanced a look back towards Rick, blood splattered and furious, hacking at anything that came near, surrounded, like some avenging angel. 

He started digging at the soil with renewed strength, cos Rick wasn’t goin anywhere, that much was clear and there was no way he was letting Rick die cos he wasn’t looking where he was going.

But the chain just kept on and on, disappearing into the soil and it was ridiculous. 

He grabbed at the chain and just heaved at it until his palms were split open and burning, but there was no movement, not even an inch. 

And Rick was being forced back up the slope. As fucking terrifying as Rick was when he was like this, he couldn’t hope to win against these odds. 

He was already faltering, already tiring and despair was beginning to claw at Daryl’s gut. He wanted to scream at Rick to run, to just go. He wasn’t scared of dying, hadn’t ever been as far as he could remember but the thought of having to watch Rick be torn apart first was one he just couldn’t face.

But then there was no more time for thinking as the weight of numbers began to tell and some of the walkers began to slip past Rick, on towards him. 

Without thinking, he threw the knife and dropped one, scrambling backwards towards the crossbow. It was too late to reload so when they started to get close he just swung and hoped. 

It thudded into one skull after another, bodies dropping around him. 

He kept scrabbling backwards, unable to get to his feet, unable to see beyond the never-ending stream of grasping hands, waiting for one to get behind him, the feel of teeth sinking into the side of his throat. 

The chain pulled taught, sending a flash of agony up his nerves and tearing a cry out of him. His vision flashed white and it was enough to lose whatever grip he had on the situation.

And one was on top of him, held at bay only by the crossbow crushed between their chests. Its hands were scratching at his neck, pressing in, trying to bust through the skin and rip his throat out, but he couldn’t do anything about it, cos his hands were tangled up in the crossbow. 

And there were more hands on his feet, on his legs, could practically feel the press of teeth. He kicked out, the weight of the trap connecting with something, praying it’d caught the face.

His ankle was screaming, his throat was burning, and he was biting his lip to keep from crying out cos that would only bring more of them down on Rick. Christ, he hoped Rick was alright, hoped he’d seen it was over and high tailed it.

The gaping mouth was snapping at him, getting ever closer, he couldn’t keep holding it away, the smell of rot and decay was sweet at the back of his nose.

The skull split open in front of his face. A spray of blood and brains cascading over him. And he could breathe again as the weight was dragged away. 

Rick was standing there like Death himself had taken to earth, all feral and bloodied, and for a second he could have been one of the walkers. 

And then he raised the axe.

And Daryl would swear to anyone that asked, that image of Rick was gonna haunt his nightmares for the rest of time.

He threw a hand up, tried unsuccessfully to wrench his foot away from Rick and that goddamn fucking hatchet. 

“Rick, no!”

The axe came down and he let out possibly the most emasculating noise ever heard by humans. 

When it thudded into the ground, metal clinking on the chain, it took his overstressed brain a half second to process. He’d just about remembered how to breathe by the third hit when the chain finally gave up with a muted snap.

“Come on.”

He didn’t need telling twice, grabbing Rick’s hand and letting him drag him upright. 

Rick pulled his arm over his shoulder, tried to drag him forward, away from the moaning that still sounded worryingly close.

The second Daryl tried to put weight on his foot, he thought he was going to pass out. The dull ache in his ankle flared brutally, the world tilting weirdly as he swayed towards the ground.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Rick growled, grabbing him round the waist.

He nearly swore at him, cos he didn’t reckon he had much say in the matter. But he bit his lip and focussed on trying to keep the black at bay.

They were agonisingly slow, the metal was a dead weight around his ankle, but Rick was keeping up a whispered mantra in his ear, making it very clear that they were getting back together or not at all. And no way was Daryl letting Rick die out here.

It’d be better if he dropped the crossbow but he’d damn near died getting it back and they’d have to drag it from his dead fingers to get it away from him again.

But the moaning behind them was definitely getting closer.

“East, go east.”

Rick didn’t need clarification, pulling them down the slope. 

They came up to the hunting blind quickly. He’d stashed weapons and supplies there two weeks ago and he knew it was barricadable. 

So they’d still be fucked but it might buy them some time. 

Rick shouldered his way inside and dropped him to the floor, turning to fasten the door shut. It was tiny, maybe six by six feet, but it was solid enough. It’d hold. 

Good thing too, almost instantly there was scratching and moaning at the walls. 

Rick was standing, leaning his forehead against the door, chest heaving. 

Now he was still again, all the aches that had been drowned out by the insistent pounding in his ankle came back with a vengeance. 

He swiped a hand across his throat and his heart stuttered as he brought it down red.

“Rick?” His voice was quiet, wavering. He tried again with more force. “Rick, it got me.”

That got Rick to turn round, eyes wide as he sank to his knees and dragged his hand away from his throat. He felt Rick’s hand on his jaw, lifting his chin. 

“I can’t see.”

Rick grabbed one of the bottles he’d hidden and the shop rag out of his pocket, wetting it and wiping it gently down the side of his throat. 

“Jesus Christ.”

Daryl felt a pit open up in his stomach. “What?” 

Rick didn’t answer, just rewet the cloth and dabbing at his neck again. 

“It’s not yours.”

“What?”

Rick sat back on his heels with the faintest of grins. “It’s not your blood. Didn’t break the skin.” He gently lifted his chin again. “Shit, it was close though.”

“Fucking Hell.”

Rick dropped back onto the floor, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him. The silence was broken only by their breaths and the scrabbling of hands at the walls. 

“You don’t ask me to leave you again, you hear me?” 

He could feel Rick’s eyes on him, knew he didn’t just mean today. 

He didn’t meet the look. “Can’t go no further.”

“You ain’t never given up in your life.”

“This ain’t giving up, this is facts. I can’t walk no more, not through them.” He gestured to the door. “We’ll both just die.”

“Told you not to ask that again.”

He swallowed thickly. “You gotta chance here. I can distract ‘em.”

“Stop.” 

Daryl knew that tone, it was absolute, and he’d never disobeyed it. 

Rick just nodded as if it was all decided. “First we gotta get that off.”

He almost laughed. What the fuck did Rick think he’d been trying to do? Then Rick dragged the Colt outta his belt and Daryl knew exactly where this was going. 

He caught his wrist. “The noise.”

Rick shrugged. “It ain’t getting much worse than it already is.”

Fair point. 

Rick shuffled down to his foot and lined up the barrel with the mechanism. He looked up at Daryl with a silent question. He just nodded. He was out of all other ideas. 

Rick took a deep breath. “Watch the ricochet.”

He nodded again, though Rick wasn’t looking anymore, and twisted away, burying his face in his arm. Taking a shard of metal to the eye was not the way he wanted this shitty day to end. 

He thought Rick might count down but he went all of a sudden. And the crack of the pistol got all mixed up with the shuddering vibration up his leg and he was biting down on his own arm to keep from screaming and Rick must have shot his fucking foot off because Jesus Christ! 

He didn’t know if he blacked out or if his brain just short circuited but awareness came back gradually. Rick was just patting his back, murmuring meaningless platitudes. 

“Fucking Hell,” he mumbled into his arm.

He heard Rick huff a laugh. 

“I’m just gonna move your leg.”

He didn’t answer, he couldn’t and there wasn’t any point. He just focussed on breathing, let Rick do whatever he was doing. He felt Rick gently extricate his foot from the metal, begin to untie the cords around the base of his jeans. 

He heard the rip of fabric. The ghost of Rick’s touch over his skin, making him shudder. 

“It’s broken.”

“No fuckin’ shit.”

“It’s not too bad.”

“Fuck off.”

“Can you sit up?”

“No.” 

But he did, pushing himself up onto his elbow. There was a deep bruise up the outside of his ankle, just beginning to shift from red to purple. It was already swelling rapidly.

“See?” Rick’s hand was resting lightly on his foot.

“Can already hear the ‘but’, man.”

“Gonna have to reset it.”

He sucked in a breath. “Yeah, I know. Ain’t my first rodeo.”

“I’ll try and be quick.”

“Ain’t got all day.”

Rick shifted position, one hand on his foot, one running down to the end of the bone. He couldn’t help but twitch.

“Am I gonna have to hold ya down?” Rick was only half joking. 

“Jesus, Rick, get on with- Holy fuck!”

Rick went again without warning, pulling on his foot and pushing the bone back with his other hand. “Sorry,” he said, grinning and not looking sorry at all.

“Gonna have to work on ya bedside manner.”

Rick was shrugging his coat and shirt off, tying it round his ankle, tight enough to hurt. “Better?”

He flexed his foot gingerly. “Yeah.”

“Splint it properly when we get back.” Rick pulled his coat back on over bare skin. “Apocalypse fashion, huh?”

“Shoulda used mine.”

“Yeah, well I thought you deserved to keep at least some of your clothes. I hate to break it to ya, but we forgot your shoe.”

“Fuck.” It was his only pair. 

“Well, I wouldn’t worry, ya ain’t gonna need it for a while.” Rick was already collecting up the weapons, fastening as many to his belt as he could. 

“You gotta plan?”

“Maybe.” He started handing him what was left, stocking them both up with guns and supplies. “You still got that lighter?”

***

The woods had dropped into deep darkness as they limped back, their machine gun fire and the heat from the blazing hunting blind acting as a beacon for the rest of the herd. 

Daryl couldn’t quite believe they’d got away with it all. He’d thought they were both gonna die about fifty times today. 

“How far do you reckon it is back?” Rick huffed in his ear, still taking half his weight.

“Bout six miles or so.”

“Mmmm, should get there by about Tuesday then.”

Daryl laughed, then caught a shuffling off to their right. “You hear that?”

“Oh, no. Ain’t goin down that road again.”

“Think it’s a doe.”

“I ain’t carrying that and you. Bambi gets a pass.”

“So, two hunters are dragging this deer-“

“Really? Again?”

“Gonna be a long walk back, you wanna do it in silence?” 

Rick sighed heavily. “Go on.”

“These two hunters are dragging this deer and they come across another guy. This guy says ‘you know it’s easier if you drag it the other way, then the antlers don’t dig in the dirt.’ Then this guy heads off. So they decide to give it a try. A little while later one hunter says to the other, "You know, that guy was right. This is a lot easier!" Other one goes ‘Yeah, but we're getting farther from the truck.’”

“You never get to complain about my singing again.”

“Sure thing.”

They went on in silence for a few moments.

“These two guys wake up in the woods-“

“For fucks sake, Daryl.”


End file.
